Dead Seriously.

Growing up, my Dad frequently told me, after I had talked back to him disrespectfully or just because I was an idiot, that one day, my mouth would “get me in trouble.” I never really believed him, but in fact, he was right. Last week, I wrote a post for By Common Consent that ended up being kind of a humorous turn on some of the unintentionally horrible things that we all do in our younger years. The post itself, as I just said, was kind of funny, and that was by design, but when the original idea behind the post was more serious–the idea that it’s difficult to understand the cruelty that we all exhibit from time to time.

To this day, I can honestly say that the experience I related in the above-mentioned post with the older man in Finland whom I insulted is probably the most painful and horrible memory I possess. One reason for this is that the actions I took affected many different parties, whereas oftentimes the stupid things we do or say take are isolated on a single person, from whom it is easy to seek forgiveness and make amends.

In this instance, the old man threw us out of his house with fiery anger–justifiably. I returned to his door a few days later with a card and a small gift–a small attempt to express my regret and apologize, but he did not answer the door–I don’t know if he wasn’t home, or just didn’t want to deal with me. I left the articles on his doorstep, and hoped he would allow the missionaries who had been teaching him to return, but he never did. I don’t know how seriously he was investigating the Church, but I know one thing–he’ll likely never investigate it again. If the joy that we experience with those who find the Gospel in part because of our works is the most sublime, then its intensity is certainly matched by the sorrow that I feel for being a primary barrier in one man’s search for God.

But it doesn’t stop there.

I described, briefly, the conversation I had with my mission president, in which I told him that I was unfit to continue serving in the leadership capacity he had placed me in. While he felt differently, and despite my firm belief that my mission president loved me, respected me as a missionary and as a man, and that he appreciated my service from start to finish, I always felt that something changed (justifiably!) in the way he looked at me that day. I knew that I had let him down.

As for the Elder who was the investigator’s principle contact, I do not expect forgiveness in life or the life to come. The situation with him was similar to that of my mission president–we continued to work together well, and at times flourished in our joint efforts when we worked together, but I knew that, to some degree, I had lost any credibility that I had built up earlier.

As the years have passed, and when I’ve seen my mission president at reunions or elsewhere, he gives me no indication that he even remembers the incident–I’m sure that other missionaries did stupid things, and that my foibles were not unique. And still, when we meet, I have an almost unstoppable urge to blurt out, “President, I really have grown up! I promise I am not that stupid kid anymore!” in an attempt to regain his trust and confidence. Similarly, when I have crossed paths with the Elder who lost his investigator to my stupidity, he has always greeted me with a friendly smile and courteous exchanges, while in my heart I feel shame. I wonder if, deep down inside, he just loathes me and wishes I’d just leave him alone.